


Reversal

by kopycat_101



Series: Nathmarc November [16]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Akumatized Main Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anxiety, Bipolar Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Boys In Love, Bullying, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Friendship, Flirting, For Marc this is a slow burn pining romance turned whirlwind romance, For Nathaniel this is a speedrun whirlwind romance, Gay Marc Anciel, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Marc Anciel & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug are Cousins, Nathaniel and Alix are Childhood Best Friends, Original Akuma, Other, Pining, Role Reversal, Romance, Slash, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Wingman Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Nathaniel Kurtzberg is the antisocial and skittish loner of Bustier's class, who is constantly writing brooding poetry, seemingly unable to call anyone his friend outside of Alix Kubdel.Marc Anciel is a shy artist inspired by the poems Nathaniel posts on the school website, who is introduced to the art club by his cousin Marinette, and instantly seems to capture Nathaniel's attention through his drawings.Things between them would have been a slow build, if not for one thing: Marc gets Akumatized.(Role Reversal Marcnath AU, featuring wingwoman Marinette, role reversed heroes, DJWifi, and a lot of gay panic.)
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Alya Césaire & Nino Lahiffe, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Chloé Bourgeois & Sabrina Raincomprix, Marc Anciel & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Nathmarc November [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994782
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Reversal

**Author's Note:**

> For NathMarc November Day 16: Opposite
> 
> My mind took the prompt and ran with it like a madman. My exact thought process was this:  
> Opposite => Reverse => Role Reversal
> 
> And thus, this AU was born! On more of the exact specifics, I've got a list of things in the ending notes

* * *

Nathaniel hunches over his notebook, scribbling up a storm. He was in his usual space, hiding under the stairs. Alix would probably be around at any second to drag his ass into the sunlight, no doubt to the cafeteria.

He hates eating in front of people, hates the crowded and packed space of the cafeteria. But he can’t just…avoid crowds all the time. It’s not _viable_ , he knows…

He still hates it. And he fuels that frustration and fear into his poetry.

Is it stereotypical, for the quiet emo boy to be writing angsty poetry? Sure. Is he going to stop because of people’s snarky remarks? No.

Chloe can go fuck herself. She’s the one that gives him the hardest time about his poetry…Or, at least, she _did_. Before he was turned into Fontaine Quill, the monochromatic poetry-based Akuma that could bring misfortune with whatever he wrote with his quill and scroll.

After he went after her in a state of rage, well. She’s stopped bullying him.

It’s better, this way, Nathaniel thinks. Having the stuck-up girl be terrified of him and avoid him for almost killing her.

Nathaniel writes and writes, scrawling words on the page of his notebook in his fountain pen. He can always refine his writing later, but the rawness of emotion? That was hard to grasp, like trying to grab smoke. Ephemeral. If you didn’t jot it down quick, it would leave you forevermore.

When he hears the murmuring of the student body exiting the cafeteria, the redhead finishes his last thought on the page. He makes sure to cap his fountain pen before putting it in the pocket of his red skinny jeans, the other hand not gripping his notebook adjusting his black hoodie.

He feels excited, at the thought of going back to Miss Bustier’s Writing class. Her class was his favorite. Despite his wandering attention and proclivity to sit at the very back to sneak in some writing, he always paid attention to his Homeroom teacher during this particular class.

As he walks out from under the stairs, he doesn’t notice someone watching him from the top of them.

* * *

Marc’s hand flies across the page, eyes darting back and forth between the poem on his phone and the drawing unfurling under his pencil.

The rawness that the poem captures is breathtaking. Marc’s even been so inspired before in his life!

It’s a poem about being broken and sharp and jagged, and having hands help fix you up until you were no longer hurting yourself and those around you.

It made Marc’s heart ache. It made him feel so _much_. A slew of sympathy, pain, hope, pride. It’s beautiful work.

Nathaniel Kurtzberg…He has a way with words that takes Marc’s breath away. Marc feels it—feels his breath leaving his lungs as he looks down at the illustration he created over the riveting poem.

It’s not perfect—just pencil for now. But once Marc adds in ink or charcoal, he hopes it’ll look as dark and layered and breath-taking as the poem.

Nathaniel Kurtzberg just doesn’t write gorgeous poetry. He writes stories, too. Stories about villains turned to heroes, of redemption and learning what’s right versus what’s easy.

Marc likes them all. The poems, the stories, the prose. Sometimes he’ll be invested in drawing something that encapsulates one poem. Sometimes it’s multiple illustrations. Sometimes the stories make him look at Red Beetle and Jaguar in a new light as he draws them.

Either way, Fontaine is a _fascinating_ character. Troubled and tortured, but willing to change for the better, to learn from his mistakes and do good instead.

Marc can’t help but think that the character is more than just a character.

The only information the artist knows about Nathaniel Kurtzberg is the little picture that came with his name on the school website, when his works were posted. Scouring the Claw-Spot Blog and other news sources pulled up blurry pictures of an Akuma a few months back that seemed to share similar powers and description as the anti-hero in Nathaniel’s stories.

It was enough information, though, for Marc to find himself…a little smitten.

Nathaniel is a bit of a ghost. You’d think it would be impossible since he has naturally bright-red hair, but no. The writer is very good at using his smaller size to hide and blend into the student body. Marc’s only ever seen the writer when Nathaniel gets out of his little hidey hole under the stairs of the courtyard. And the only reason Marc notices is because he usually sits at the top of the first-floor stairs to draw.

The fact that Nathaniel is so vehemently solitary he writes under the stairs is both a little concerning and very charming, Marc finds. That’s probably his crush talking. Either way, it seems like very few people notice Nathaniel…which is a shame. But Marc isn’t the type to make that mistake.

He feels the rawness of Nathaniel’s writing, feels it speak to him, _connect_ to him. He’s not sure if it’s a cry for help—the boy’s bound to have at least one friend in his class, if not multiple, because Bustier’s class is bonded by trauma from constant Akumatizations.

But Marc…Marc wants to get to know him. Not just the deep and heavy stuff, the fears and traumas and struggles. He wants to know the little things, too. The other’s favorite color, favorite season, favorite bands and songs. The way he laughs. The exact curve of his smiles.

Marc just… _wants_. He wants it so much, he feels it deep in his heart.

He’s not sure if he’s ready to ever talk to Nathaniel—never meet your idols and all—but the thought of _getting to know Nathaniel_ won’t leave him alone.

Marc bites his lip and closes his sketchbook, eyes riveted on the head of fiery red hair going back to Bustier’s class, the lunch hour almost drawing to a close.

Maybe…

* * *

Nathaniel sits at his usual table in Room 33, away from the rest of the students in Art Club.

While most of the students attending are from his class, and sort of…his friends? He still doesn’t feel comfortable unless he’s got at least his back towards one wall, and enough space between him and his classmates that he’ll see them coming before they try to just read over his shoulder. A habit and defense mechanism he’s picked up from his history of bullying.

The rest don’t really take offense to his skittish nature and constant anxiety. Probably used to it, by now.

Rose and Juleka are working on their lyrics and chords together. Ivan is maintaining a bonsai tree with careful movements, his girlfriend sitting next to him, focused on tapping a pencil on the table in a rhythm before writing the beats down on her sheet music. Meanwhile, at her usual table, Marinette is editing some video for the Claw-Spot Blog.

And Alix is just being Alix, doing her thing with spray paint cans and a lot of wild arcing of her arms to get the spots on the plywood that are too tall for her to reach normally.

“Do you need help with anything, Nathaniel?”

The redhead looks up, watching the art teacher approach him with open posture and a warm smile.

“I-I’m fine, Mr. Carracci,” the writer stumbles through the basic assurance, picking at his nail polish. He knows the teacher is a kind and understanding one that won’t judge him too much for the occasional stutter.

“Are you still writing more of that story of yours…?” Mr. Carracci wonders, in an open-ended way, kind and patient.

“Uh…Yeah,” Nathaniel says with a nod, finding himself relaxing. Mr. Carracci and Miss Bustier are the only teachers he really trusts, and they’re both his favorites because of that.

“They’re very good stories! Have you thought of having someone help create some illustrations to go along with them?” Mr. Carracci wonders.

Nathaniel blinks back at the man, startled. “O-Oh…No, I…I never considered…”

“Heya, ‘Cuz!” Marinette’s exclamation cuts loudly through the room. “You actually came…!”

The half-Chinese girl rushes to the door, dragging someone into the Art Room. It’s someone that looks androgynous, with wild black hair and emerald green eyes and a pretty face. They’re wearing some sort of gray blazer, a rainbow tie-dye shirt, and green skinny jeans, alongside dirtied sneakers splattered with paint.

It’s a wild and eclectic collection of clothing and colors, for sure. It should look ridiculous. But this stranger makes it work.

“Who do you have there, Marinette?” Mr. Carracci asks with a smile.

“This is my cousin Marc!” Marinette chirps, dramatically splaying her arms out to introduce the newcomer. “Marc, welcome to the Art Club!”

“You’re always welcome in this room to work, Marc. We’re open to any student working on whatever they’d like,” the teacher starts warmly as he steps to the middle of the room to greet the newcomer. “From music, to videos, to writing, to more traditional art—all are welcome here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Marc says, voice strangely deep, contrasting with his androgynous frame.

Marc’s eyes dart about the room, seemingly taking everything in. Next to him, Marinette wiggles in place. “Marc’s amazing at drawing! He’ll fit in right in!” the blogger proclaims proudly.

“Oh, I’m—I’m not _amazing_ , by any stretch,” Marc says, nervously fiddling with the choker around his neck. “I just…draw.”

“Drawing is already a skill unto itself, Marc,” Mr. Carracci says patiently, smiling encouragingly at the young artist. “Let me introduce you to the others.”

* * *

Nathaniel tries to go back to writing in his notebook—really, he does—but his attention is riveted on Marc.

Marc is a new entity. Nathaniel can’t let his guard down. He needs more information on this boy, who so suddenly appears, looking so vivacious and dressing so loudly and with the face of an angel.

Could he be here to infiltrate and sabotage them…? No, no, that can’t be it. No one ever has a vendetta against Mr. Carracci.

Did Marc have something against one of them…? Not very likely, as he was Marinette’s cousin, and Marinette was a rather kind person herself. If a little intense sometimes…

By the time Mr. Carracci has shown Marc around to the other students, just Nathaniel is left in his lonely little corner.

“And this is Nathaniel! He’s a fantastic budding writer.”

“Hello,” Nathaniel says quietly, giving a nod, glad that he doesn’t stutter at all in his introduction.

Marc looks right at him and smiles, an excited and bright thing, teeth pearly white against his tanned skin. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Marc,” the newcomers says with a little wave of his hand. “I-I’ve read your writing on the school website, actually…!”

Nathaniel blinks back at him, stunned and off-kilter. “Wh…wait, really?”

Marc nods his head, clutching at what looks like a sketchbook to his chest. “Yes! They’re all amazing! The prose, the rawness of the emotion, the way you describe your characters—it’s _incredible_!”

And then the newcomer extends his sketchbook a bit, opening it, turning it around to show Nathaniel a page. “I’ve actually, um, drawn a few things based on your writing…? They really inspired me! Sorry, I know I never asked for permission, but…”

Nathaniel stares back. This can’t be real.

But his heart thrums in his chest, and his breath stutters, his eyes taking in the gorgeous, inked illustration presented to him. A figure doubled over with a scream, clutching his chest as he weeps, wings bursting from his back. It’s an illustration of Fontaine.

After a few seconds, the redhead finds his voice. He squeaks out, “Th-thank you…?”

He wants to instantly beat his head against the table. What sort of response was that?! He sounds like such a loser…!

“That’s great work, Marc!” Mr. Carracci praises, snapping Nathaniel out of his spiral of thoughts. “You know, I was just talking to Nathaniel about finding an artist to create illustrations for his stories.”

“Really?” the raven-haired boy asks, looking at the teacher, before looking over at the awkward writer. He smiles, emerald eyes gleaming. “I’d love to work with you! If you’d like to, of course. It’s okay if you don’t like my art…”

The writer finds his heart tripping in his chest, alongside a little bit of panic. “N-no! No, um. Y-Your art, it’s, it’s r-really good,” Nathaniel stutters out, wanting to say anything to get the whirlwind of a boy to _stay_.

No one’s ever created anything based on his writing before, and it’s…It makes Nathaniel feel proud, and accomplished, and giddy that he’s managed to inspire someone so much with his writing that they took time to show it in such a way.

Marc straightens his posture and smiles back at him, wide and excited. Nathaniel finds his face going warm.

_Oh no. He’s cute_.

“Can I sit with you today…?” the raven-haired boy asks, pointing at the table with a nail painted a green the exact shade of his emerald eyes. “I can, um, show you more of what I’ve drawn, if you’d like?”

Nathaniel finds his stomach fluttering like a swarm of locusts. “S-Sure.”

* * *

Marc’s nerves are alight, as he sits next to the amazing writer. Not too close, not too far. He doesn’t want to scare the redhead away, who already seems to be incredibly introverted and anxious, even more-so than Marc himself.

Nathaniel is quiet, and he stutters, but he’s intelligent in the way he speaks, what vocabulary he uses. He sounds like a writer.

All Marc really has to do is ask an occasional question about Nathaniel’s writing, and the redhead dives right in with an answer. It’s incredibly charming, the way he gets decidedly more confident when talking about his writing, how _sure_ he sounds.

By the time Art Club ends, Nathaniel has dissected Marc’s illustrations down to minute detail, finding all the ways Marc’s interpreted his poetry and stories visually.

The artist’s blue eyes are bright, striking and lined with eyeliner. There’s a buzzing energy about him, pale hands flittering this way and that when he speaks. Marc’s eyes catch on the other’s nails, covered in chipped black paint, and feels happy at the little fact that they both paint their nails.

“Ah. S-sorry, I…I think I got ahead of myself…” the redhead mumbles sheepishly, pale cheeks flushing a cute pink before he ducks his head and hides behind his overgrown bangs.

“It’s fine! I’m, um, I’m glad you enjoyed my drawings and think I did well in interpreting your writing,” the raven-haired boy says soothingly, finding himself smile fondly back at the eccentric writer. “See you next Art Club?”

“Y-Yeah. See you.”

Marc’s not sure, but he _swears_ he feels Nathaniel’s eyes on his back as he leaves the room.

* * *

Marc doesn’t get far before an arm is hooking through his elbow.

“Sooooo,” Marinette drawls out impishly, eyes glimmering. “You really got Nathaniel there to be chatty. Just what were you two talking about…?”

“Oh, uh, nothing much? Just his writing. A-And I showed him some of my drawings?” the artist finds himself mumbling, suddenly feeling incredibly shy, under his cousin’s scrutiny.

They only just make it to the ground floor, before Marinette’s turning to him and stating, “Oh, you’re _definitely_ crushing on him.”

Marc instantly feels his face burn. “I—I’m not—”

“You are,” Marinette smirks back, poking him on the forehead. “You’re smitten, ’Cuz. You should ask him out.”

The raven-haired boy finds himself sputtering. “He barely knows me…! H-He’d never—”

“You won’t know if you don’t try, right?” his cousin points out, pointedly raising a brow. “C’mon, Marc.”

“I don’t even know if he likes boys!” he finds himself hissing, clutching his sketchbook to his chest, eyes stuck on his sneakers. “W-what if he thinks it’s weird and awkward and doesn’t want to work with me—”

He feels himself stop in place, Marinette planting her hands on his shoulders and holding him there. “If he doesn’t, that’s his loss,” the half-Chinese girl says seriously, looking into his eyes. “But Nathaniel isn’t a bigot, and he won’t hate or avoid you just because you’re gay, Marc. And believe me, just from today, I can already tell that he enjoys your company.”

“R-Really…?” Marc finds himself whispering, staring back into his cousin’s soulful eyes, heart filling with hope.

“Really,” Marinette nods decisively, giving a little grin. “Nath…He’s always kept to himself and kept quiet. He’s a nervous and shy boy, kinda broody, and super sensitive. He’s only really friends with Alix, even if we all want to be his friend and welcome him in the Art Club. He _avoids_ people, Marc…But today, he didn’t avoid you. He didn’t run away from you, and he let you sit with him, and _no one else_ that isn’t Alix has managed that.”

The artist finds himself sucking in a breath, eyes blown wide. “…Oh.”

“If nothing else, I think you’ve already broken through to him and made yourself his friend,” his cousin notes, with a wide and warm smile. “So even if you ask him out and he lets you down, he won’t just abandon your friendship.”

Hope blooms in Marc’s chest, and he finds himself nodding along. “I…Okay. I’ll ask him. But!” he adds quickly, when his cousin starts to whoop. “But, Mari, you _can’t_ say a thing to him, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise!” the girl nods quickly, pigtails bouncing, looking giddy.

“And, um…I don’t want to freak him out or anything, since he seems like a super anxious guy? So I’m not going to ask him out to his face.”

His cousin frowns, a thoughtful look on her face. “Actually…that’s fair. A note might work better.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” the artist nods, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “I’ll need to think of the perfect thing to write…I’m not a writer, so I’m not so great with words…”

“Maybe you can draw him something!” Marinette gasps, jumping on her toes. “Draw him something, and just add a little note with your name and number and saying you want to talk, maybe?”

“Okay. Alright, that…That sounds doable,” Marc nods, tapping his nails on his sketchbook nervously. “Do you…Do you know his locker number?”

“Um, I don’t…sorry,” she admits with a cringe, and Marc feels his shoulders fall. “But! He brings his own padlock though, on top of the one that already comes with the locker. So just find my locker, and his shouldn’t be hard to spot from there.”

“Thanks, Mari,” Marc sighs, reaching out to tug on one of her pigtails gently.

“You can do it, ‘Cuz!” she beams back at him, grabbing onto his hand with both of hers, eyes wide and sincere. He feels relieved at her faith in him.

“I hope so.”

* * *

Marc spends all night crafting the perfect drawing, writing a note under it in his best cursive, making sure everything is legible.

It’s not eloquent, but the note asks for Nathaniel to speak with him, that Marc wants to get to know him and take him on a date, if the writer is willing.

Marc barely got any sleep that night, full of nerves, and he barely manages to get to school in time. He slides into his desk at the back of the room, just as the bell rings, giving an awkward smile to his seatmate and friend, Jean.

Throughout the lessons, Marc is tapping his pencil and jiggling his knee, wanting lunch to already arrive. At least lunchtime will give him some time to set the note in Nathaniel’s locker.

The second the lunch bell rings, Marc’s out the door, making his way to the lockers. He goes to his year’s section, and finds Marinette’s locker as a starting point.

Well. Here it is. Now to find Nathaniel’s…

Three others have extra padlocks on them, around the area of where Bustier’s Homeroom should have their lockers. The artist finds himself cursing under his breath.

Alright, he decides, start from the left and move his way down. He goes to the locker on the left, a little far away from Marinette’s. Since Nathaniel isn’t a people-person, maybe this one is his?

“Just _what_ are you doing in front of my locker?” a pompous voice asks. Marc finds his blood running cold, and he whips around, hiding his note behind his back.

Chloe Bourgeoise stands in front of him with a cruel smirk on her lips, her hands on her hips. Shit. Abort mission. He’s got the queen bee bitch that hates his cousin’s guts in front of him, and that’s definitely _not_ good.

“N-Nothing, sorry,” he sputters, trying to edge to the side so he can walk around her, but the blonde simply steps in front of him, blocking his path.

“Were you going to leave me a love letter?” the girl purrs with a leer, eyes dragging up and down his form. “Your fashion sense is tacky, but you’re pretty cute besides that.”

Marc finds himself blanch even further. The stuck-up girl promptly glares back at whatever expression he’s pulled—no doubt one of pure horror and disgust.

“Sorry, b-but I’m not interested,” he tells her quietly, trying to move to the other side, only to have the blonde narrow her eyes and block his way. “P-please, I’ll be out of your hair—”

And then he feels the note being yanked from his hands. He yelps, staring in horror at the redheaded girl with glasses dart away from him. He tries to lunge for her, but Chloe already has his note in her hand, stepping away from Marc with a smirk.

“Nice one, Sabrina.”

The bespectacled girl—Sabrina—preens from Chloe’s flippant praise. The bully opens the note, and then promptly bursts into mocking laughter.

“G-give it back,” he whispers, hands clenched into fists and blinking down the burning of tears in his eyes. But all Chloe does is smile cruelly at him, her little minion giggling at her side with an impish grin.

“Kurtzberg? You’re interested in _Kurtzberg_ , of all people?” the blonde demands, shaking her head. “Oh, that’s rich! If you’re going to be gay, fine, but chose someone who’s worth it, not _Kurtzberg_. You’re at least an eight, and he’s bottom of the barrel. Go drool over Nino’s perfect model looks, or Kim’s beefy muscles.”

All Marc can do is sputter, feeling anger and embarrassment and shame mix in a deadly cocktail in his stomach. He shakes and trembles all over, nerves at full throttle. “T-Take that—Take that back…!” he stutters, fists tightening.

“Is it because he’s a broody poet? Is that why?” Chloe coos mockingly, giving a sharp bark of laughter. “What a joke! He’s a fucking _freak_! He hates everyone, and avoids them, if he doesn’t want everyone flat-out _dead_!”

“You don’t know him!” Marc snaps, finding fury fueling his courage to speak back.

How _dare_ this girl—this rich and stuck-up _bully_ —talk about a boy so talented and sweet! A boy who was obviously anxious and hated socializing because of people like _her_ …!

“I’ve been his classmate for three damn years!” Chloe snarls, suddenly standing toe-to-toe with Marc. Her heels made her taller than him, just a little. “And he doesn’t have any friends, and when I pointed that out, he tried to fucking _kill me_. You’d be better off ignoring him and letting him rot in his little pity party!”

Marc feels the distinct need to punch Chloe in her fake-tanned face, but he doesn’t hit women. Instead, he grabs back his note from her hand, and bodily shoves past her, purposefully clipping her shoulder and moving around a stunned Sabrina as he speed-walks away.

He ignores the blonde bitch’s shrieking demands for him to apologize to her, and just keeps walking, rage and blood pounding in his ears.

The artist quickly finds a hallway far away from the lockers, and leans heavily against the wall, biting his lip and trying not to cry as he looks down at the note in his shaky hands. All the rough-handling has crumpled the paper and smeared some of the ink in his careful drawing of a shy Nathaniel.

He doesn’t see the purple butterfly until it’s landed right on top of Nathaniel’s clear blue eye, sinking into the page, the paper becoming smoky with black and purple energy.

A voice echoes in his mind, one not his own. “ _No one can appreciate the one you love in the way that he deserves, not like you can. Romancer, allow me to give you the strength to show just how amazing he is. In return, you will bring me Red Beetle and Jaguar’s Miraculous. Do you accept?_ ”

Marc finds himself raising his head in a glare down the hallway. “Yes, Hawkmoth.”

And that’s the last thing he remembers, before his body is overtaken by the tainted energy.

* * *

Nathaniel was writing under the stairs like usual, when a shrieking Chloe ran past him, towards the Cafeteria.

“NINOOOOO, SAVE MEEEE!”

And behind her is an Akuma on a paper airplane, controlling paper projectiles to follow after her. The girl barely manages to get inside the Cafeteria’s doors, before the projectiles imbed themselves in the door.

Nathaniel can’t help but let out a low whistle. Well, shit. That was…surprisingly really cool.

Unfortunately for him, his whistle manages to catch the Akuma’s attention.

The Akuma turns around on their paper glider. They’re androgynous-looking, wearing a white toga, a wreathe of rainbow leaves curling around their short-cropped dark hair. Multicolored flecks of paint are splattered on their tanned skin, arms and legs wrapped in golden bangles, a heart-shaped choker around their neck. Their eyes were a deep red, matching the ruby-red lipstick on their lips.

Nathaniel’s limbs lock in place as he freezes, heart jackrabbiting in fear. And then the Akuma smiles, something warm and gooey and almost _lovestruck_. They glide over, stopping right in front of Nathaniel. The writer shrinks into himself slightly, but he can’t find strength in his limbs to back away.

“My love,” the Akuma says, in a strangely deep voice that doesn’t match their pretty form. The villain outstretches his hand out towards the writer, palm up. An invitation. “My love, my muse, dearest Nathaniel. Will you come with me? Allow me to take you away from this cruel place, full of terrible people who don’t understand your brilliance?”

The pieces click in place, and Nathaniel finds his eyes bugging out of his head, his breath stuttering in his chest. “W-Wait…I…Marc?”

“I used to be,” the Akuma says with a gentle voice, eyes just as achingly soft and gentle. “But my name is Romancer.”

Romancer…? And he was…He was looking at Nathaniel like—

The redhead finds his face burning. Does this mean Marc likes him…? Likes him like—

“Stop right there, Akuma!”

Romancer sighs, loud and irritated, turning around on his glider. “It’s rude to interrupt, you know.”

Nathaniel leans to the side, catching the sight of Red Beetle and Jaguar, Paris’ superheroes. Red Beetle has an excited smile on her lips, red-and-black ponytail whipping about her as she readies a battle stance. Next to her, Jaguar grins and readies his baton, canines white against his brown skin like someone from a toothpaste commercial.

Bursting out of the Cafeteria, un-heeding of the danger or the paper projectiles still stuck in the door, Marinette squeals and holds up her camera to start recording. “Ooh, I wish Alya and Nino were here…!”

Romancer raises both hands in front of himself, in an almost placating motion. “You shouldn’t act rashly. You could hurt someone.”

“Bold words coming from an Akuma,” Red Beetle snorts, twirling her yoyo with a cocksure grin, brown eyes bright behind her domino mask. “If you’re so worried, give up now. That way, no one gets hurt.”

Nathaniel can’t see Romancer’s expression, since he can only see his back, but the Akuma’s voice is even as he warns, “Marinette, dear, please move away from the fight. Specifically, from the door.”

The blogger’s eyes go wide, and she squeaks, jumping to the side and away from the Cafeteria’s door.

And then Romancer make a motion with his hands, and all the projectiles go flying towards Red Beetle and Jaguar’s backs. Thankfully, the heroes had enough time to dodge and deflect, having been looking over at Marinette and the door for a second. But it was a close one.

That signals the fight officially beginning

The way Romancer controls the paper with movements of his hands and fingers is endlessly fascinating, and absolutely amazing. It’s like someone controlling a string puppet, or a maestro conducting an orchestra. Every twitch of the finger is reflected in the arcing of one of the paper objects, fine-tuned.

It’s like he was drawing in the air, with the hands of an artist.

Red Beetle and Jaguar are doing their best to dodge and deflect, but there’s too many projectile weapons. One gets Red Beetle against the swell of her curvy hip, and she curses, red-black ponytail whipping behind her as she pivots on her heel. The other nicks Jaguar on the cheek, marring the brown skin with a thin line of blood.

More and more projectiles speed around the heroes, battering them further and further, a whirlwind of paper and destruction. It’s terrifying. It’s amazing.

A very strange part of Nathaniel’s brain can’t help but think it’s supremely attractive.

The Akuma manages to pin both superheroes down by embedding the paper weapons through their superhero suits and belts, sticking them into the floor. And he barely seems to break a sweat doing it.

Romancer turns on his glider, giving a charming grin at Nathaniel and carefully outstretching an upturned palm towards him. A gentle movement, not something used for battle, but a question. An offer.

“I know this isn’t exactly an ideal situation, but may I take you out on a date for this afternoon?” Romancer asks sweetly. The writer _swears_ the other’s pupils turn into hearts, matching his stunningly red eyes.

Despite his mind screaming at him to say no, Nathaniel finds himself reaching his hand out towards the Akuma.

The super deadly, super charming, ridiculously pretty Akuma. The Akuma of a boy that Nathaniel thought was cute, and who apparently liked Nathaniel back—if the fact that even Akumatized, all he wanted to do was take him out on a date, was any indication.

Romancer grips his fingers gently, unheeding of how ugly and chipped his nail polish is, bending over in a bow to kiss his knuckles. Nathaniel instantly blushes at the action, face burning like a furnace, no doubt red up to his ears and down past his collar.

“Let’s go, shall we?” the Akuma asks with a crooked and boyish grin that makes Nathaniel’s heart flip in his chest. Using their connected hand, Romancer pulls Nathaniel up on the glider with him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him in place. Nathaniel squeaks, flustered, one hand gripping the Akuma’s toga. And then the glider moves across the courtyard, Red Beetle and Jaguar and Marinette crying out after them.

“NATH…!” he hears Alix shriek out, the loudest of them all, a sound that’s heartbreakingly terrified.

Then they’re flying out of Dupont, breaking through the doors and moving across the grass. The wind gently threads through their hair, cool against Nathaniel’s beet-red face, his stomach squirming with guilt.

* * *

The pair glide across the streets on the massive paper glide, people shrieking and throwing themselves to the ground or hiding inside shops as they pass.

Nathaniel feels sweat bead across his face, and his hands spasm, fisting the material of Romancer’s toga in a knuckle-white grip. The dawning realization hits him, then, that he agreed to go with an Akuma. He just agreed to be kidnapped and used as a hostage.

He feels dizzy. So the writer turns and cowers, burying his face into the Akuma’s collarbones, and tries to do some deep breathing to calm himself.

Romancer’s skin smells like paper and ink, a hint of metal, and something else he can’t place. The Akuma’s arm tightens around Nathaniel’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Nathaniel shivers as he feels the glider take a sharp turn and speed up, wind whipping across the back of his neck and across his cheeks.

He keeps his eyes closed and breathes in the other’s scent.

“I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I didn’t consider the possibility of you being afraid of heights,” Romancer says into his ear, voice regretful. He wraps his other arm around Nathaniel, rubbing his back comfortingly. The writer finds himself melting at both the concern and the touch.

He wasn’t a very tactile person, but it just…felt _right_ to be in the other’s arms. If Marc was this comforting and sweet as an Akuma, how much more would he be as himself…?”

Nathaniel slowly leans his head away from the other’s skin, looking out across the Parisian skyline. It’s beautiful and amazing, if a little dizzying, this far up.

He tilts his head up to say in the other’s ear, “N-not scared. Just. J-just nervous. Of people staring.”

He hears Romancer’s breath stutter. “Ah…Forgive me, then. I’ll take us to a place that’s a bit more…private.”

The redhead finds his stomach spasming, the other’s fingers cool against his warm skin when Romancer gently cups his cheek and tilts his head up. The Akuma smiles down at him, soft and apologetic and so fond, it takes the breath from his lungs.

Oh no. This is too romantic.

“If you’d like, you can close your eyes once more until we’re there. I’ll act as your shield,” Romancer says, ridiculous soft, rubbing a thumb across his burning cheek.

“I-I know, you, you won’t drop me,” Nathaniel says, the words feeling concrete, a fact. Romancer wouldn’t drop him. _Marc_ wouldn’t drop him.

“Do you have a place in mind that you’d like to go to?”

Where would be the place with the least amount of bystanders to hurt…? A place out of the way? Where the heroes can find him easily?

“E-Eiffel Tower?” he offers tentatively.

The Akuma simply smiles back at him, red lips glistening in the sunlight. “Anything for you, my love.” And then Romancer leans in, placing a kiss on top of the crown of Nathaniel’s hair. The writer’s heart skips a beat, or three.

Oh. Oh, he’d thought the other was going to kiss him on—

Face burning, he props his chin on the other’s shoulder and stares out across Paris, watching the amazing sights flying past him. He shouldn’t think about kissing Marc. Not until Marc is back to normal. When Marc could actually _remember_ it happening.

And he won’t. Even if it’s really very tempting, right now, Nathaniel’s hidden romantic nature swooning at every little thing Marc’s Akuma form did. This wasn’t the _real_ Marc, after all…

He had to stay strong, for both his own sake, as well as Marc’s.

* * *

It was very much hard to stay strong, Nathaniel’s soon finding.

Paris was absolutely _breathtaking_ on top of the Eiffel Tower, and Romancer was suddenly on one knee, presenting a paper rose to Nathaniel.

The writer finds himself giggling. He rarely giggles, but he’s so flustered and charmed, he’s doing it now. With tentative fingers, he grabs the paper rose from Romancer, who beams back at him as bright as the sun. Cute.

“Is there anything else you’d like, my muse?” Romancer asks, getting up from his kneel to tuck Nathaniel’s bangs behind his ear, holding it in place with another paper flower. This one a marigold, the writer thinks. “Just name it, and I will do my best to give it to you. The world? It’s yours.”

“I-I don’t need the, the entire w-world,” Nathaniel stutters, ducking his head shyly and twirling the paper rose in his fingers. “Just…I just need you, th-that’s all. Nothing else.”

He has to keep Romancer with him, keep him occupied and disarmed. If he leaves to bring Nathaniel more gifts, bystanders can get dragged into it, and more people can get hurt. He’s doing this to be practical.

But he also knows the words hold truth to them as well. Nathaniel…He doesn’t need the world. Just someone willing to stay by his side…

That’s all he’s ever wanted. That’s enough, for him.

He peeks up at the Akuma tentatively to see his reaction. Romancer stares back at him with what were essentially heart eyes, tanned cheeks darkened in a blush, a hand over his heart and a wide grin on his ruby-red lips.

“If that’s what you wish,” the other says softly, picking up Nathaniel’s unoccupied hand to kiss the knuckles. “Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll stay by your side forevermore, my love.”

Nathaniel can’t help it. He swoons. Fuck, this is all _too romantic_ , and he was bisexual ass is going to _explode_.

“Y-You’re—you’re r-really sweet. Oh _wow_ , you’re so sweet,” he finds himself stuttering out, trying to hide behind his paper rose. “I-I’m probably r-red like a, like a tomato.”

“I think it’s charming,” he hears the other say, Romancer dropping Nathaniel’s knuckles and carefully placing a hand on one of the writer’s cheeks. “And ridiculously cute. Just like the rest of you, my love.”

Nathaniel feels himself giggle, nervous and flustered and flattered. He ducks his head, shy beyond belief. “S- _Stop_ , oh my _gosh_. Y-You’re going to, to turn me into a, a puddle of goo right now.”

The other simply rubs a thumb over his cheek, before whispering, “Can you please stop hiding your beautiful face? It would be an honor to see your sweet smile. To see both of your gorgeous eyes, blue like the ocean. To see the freckles dotting your cheeks like constellations.”

The writer gives a thin, slightly hysterical laugh. “D-do you, do you, r-really, um. D-do you really think this, or is, uh. Is that the Akuma powers talking…?”

“Of course I believe it! Every word I say!” Romancer says, aghast, snatching his hand back from Nathaniel’s face like he’d been burned. “Why would you ever think otherwise?!”

Nathaniel feels himself stiffen, a little fearful and a lot panicked. Shit. Fuck. He’s freaked the Akuma out. Fuck fuck fuck.

“S-s-sorry,” he eeks out, trying to stop himself from trembling, clasping his hands together with the paper rose between them. “I-It’s just—sorry—fuck—s-sorry—”

“No, no, I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to make you nervous,” the Akuma quickly back-pedals, and Nathaniel lets out a shaky sigh of relief, tentatively looking up at the other through his lashes.

Romancer looks stricken, and nervous, twisting his choker around and around and clutching at his heart.

“I-I’ve just…N-never, uh…Never had anyone _like_ me, before…” the redhead admits, watching the other’s eyes go wide and sorrowful.

“Oh. Oh _Nathaniel_ ,” Romancer breathes, sounding heartbroken.

And then without fanfare, the Akuma plunges a hand in his toga, and brings out a wrinkled piece of paper.

Wait…what?

“If you’d like written proof, I have it here,” Romancer says, eyes wide and surprisingly cute, despite their red coloring.

“W-What…what is…what is that?” Nathaniel asks, eyes riveted on the paper in the other’s hands.

That’s the Akumatized object, his mind screams at him. It _has_ to be. It would fit in with the paper theme, and everything.

“It’s a note. Revealing my affections for you, as Marc,” Romancer reveals.

Oh. Holy shit.

First of all, Marc wrote him a love note? That’s _so_ fucking romantic, wow. Secondly, the fact that the Akuma was going to hand Nathaniel his object on a silver platter was…Holy _shit_.

“Can I…Can I read it?” the redhead asks slowly, tentative and hopeful and trying not to show his excitement at the prospect of getting his hands on the Akumatized object and saving Marc.

“I’m afraid I’m not one for words, at least of the written variety,” Romancer says with a wince, biting his ruby-red lips and looking down at the note in his hands. “E-Even as Marc, I…Well. I can’t write anything even remotely as wonderful as you can. But I _am_ an artist…”

“I’d, um. I’d like to see it anyways,” Nathaniel says, giving a smile and clumsily trying to make puppy-dog eyes. “P-please…?” When Romancer hesitates, Nathaniel adds, “I l-love your drawings, so, I’m, I’m sure I’ll love the note, too…”

This seems to convince the villain. He nods to himself, looking determined and hopeful, stepping back to get on one knee and present the note Nathaniel—

Then Jaguar hoots “Cataclysm!”, dropping from the sky and slapping a clawed hand on the note, disintegrating it.

Dark energy envelopes Romancer, before bleeding away to reveal a confused Marc, still kneeling on the ground.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Red Beetle calls. Nathaniel snaps his head up to look at the ladybug-themed hero half-hanging off the scaffolding of the Eiffel Tower, throwing a pair of black-and-red binoculars in the air.

A swarm of ladybugs sweeps across Marc, his note re-appearing in his hand, before the magic darts off across Paris. No doubt to fix the minor damages at Dupont.

Well. That was fast. And…anti-climactic. At least no one got hurt, though.

* * *

Nathaniel lets out a long sigh of relief, feeling the tension leave his shoulders.

“Great job, by the way! You really helped stall for time and make this easy on us, Nathaniel,” Jaguar says, clapping a hand on the redhead’s shoulder and shooting him a model-perfect smile.

“I…I got Akumatized?” Marc asks in a small voice, and Nathaniel instantly wrenches his attention from the hot superhero to his crush.

Marc is still awkwardly on one knee, staring in horror at the note in his hands. “I…Oh God, did I—Did I hurt anyone?!”

“Nah, not really,” Red Beetle says casually, slinging down to their level with her yoyo. She props her hand on her hip as she adds, “You got me and Jag here on our toes, white boy, but that’s ‘bout it.”

“And you didn’t even really hurt us much, even during our fight. You didn’t seem to want to injure anyone involved,” the cat-themed hero assures, smiling gently at the artist. “You’re all good, dude.”

“O-Oh,” Marc breathes, looking so relieved, Nathaniel felt his heart melt. The artist’s emerald eyes are bright and a little glassy as he clambers on his feet. “I-I’m glad…”

“Now, let’s getcha down to ground level,” the ladybug-themed heroine says, already picking Marc up like he weighed nothing, cradling him like he was a cat, or something. “Let’s go, string bean.”

Marc squeaks, clutching to the heroine’s shoulders as she launches them both off the Eiffel Tower on her yoyo, the poor artist yelling on the way down.

Jaguar grins and offers his arm to Nathaniel like a gentleman. The writer smiles awkwardly back at him, moving to wrap his arms around Jaguar, the hero propping Nathaniel against his hip with one hand while the other used his baton to catapult them down.

They aren’t lowered in front of the Eiffel Tower, but a block over from it. No doubt to not make a scene or get press coverage. Nathaniel is grateful for the heroes’ thoughtfulness, because he sure as hell doesn’t want his dirty laundry to be aired across all of Paris.

Once back on the ground and safely away from any cameras, Red Beetle gives a shit-eating grin, eyes flickering between Marc and Nathaniel. “You two are _so_ cute, by the way! Congrats on the boyfriend, Nathaniel!” the heroine says, fists up by her face as she gives a little wiggle. “Now you can write love poems instead of all the angsty ones you usually do!”

Nathaniel finds himself turning red, sending a wide-eyed look over at Marc, who’s also red in the face.

“Beet, that’s kinda rude,” Jaguar points out languidly, tugging at her arm and shooting the two flustered boys a wink and thumbs-up. “Congrats, though! See ya!”

Then the two heroes were running off, parkouring across Paris, like nothing had happened.

* * *

Marc is incredibly confused, nervous, and disoriented.

One minute, he was trying not to cry because of Chloe Bourgeoise, when a butterfly landed on his note for Nathaniel. The next, he was de-Akumatized on top of the Eiffel Tower, kneeling in front of his crush, his note in his hands.

Thankfully, the heroes helped the both of them down to ground level. Unfortunately, they left Marc and Nathaniel alone…No doubt to talk about what the hell happened.

Marc didn’t hurt anyone, apparently…? So that was relieving. But still…Not knowing what he’d done is a little terrifying. And then on top of that, even the heroes of Paris seem to approve of him and Nathaniel together. Romantically. And think they’re dating.

But why would Nathaniel ever want to date _him_ …? Especially after he got Akumatized and kidnapped the poor boy…?

“I-If you worry more, you’ll burn a hole through your brain…”

Marc snaps his attention over to the redhead, taken aback at the fact that the writer was trying to talk to him. Nathaniel is pink in the cheeks and rubbing his arm, smiling awkwardly back at him. But he doesn’t seem…angry. Or disgusted. Which is good.

“S-Sorry for…” Marc starts, pausing and waving uselessly around himself. “And the heroes thinking…And, yeah…”

“It’s…I-It’s fine? Um. You, you didn’t hurt me…” the other replies, obviously nervous.

The raven-haired boy can’t help the bark of self-deprecating laughter spilling past his lips. “I still kidnapped you! Isn’t that—isn’t that just as bad?”

He can’t even look at Nathaniel, full of shame. He ducks his head, staring down at the note in his hands. Maybe he should just rip it up. It’s obvious Nathaniel wouldn’t want to date him, much less be his friend. Not after—

And then Marc watches, stunned, as Nathaniel’s hands reach out and cup his, pale digits again tan. A gentle touch. Forgiving, and supportive.

The artist snaps his head up, staring at the writer, who has a determined look on his face coupled with the softest blue eyes imaginable. His bonfire hair is tucked behind his ear, and overall, the effect takes Marc’s breath away.

“You didn’t kidnap me,” Nathaniel states, quiet but firm. “I went with you. Willingly.”

Marc feels his worldview shatter and reform, just a bit. “You…You what?” he breathes, dazed.

“You were an Akuma, and you asked me to go with you. And I did,” Nathaniel says, re-iterating his last point.

“But…How? _Why_?” the artist asks, uncomprehending.

Those pale cheeks flush a charming pink, the artist giving him a shy smile back. “Y-You…As an Akuma, you asked to, to take me on a d-date? And I agreed. So…”

“You did?” he gasps, mouth falling open.

“I did,” Nathaniel nods, pink darkening and covering up the scattering of freckles across his face. “Ummmm…Yeah. A-All you wanted was to take me on a d-date…Y-You were really romantic, too…”

The other almost mumbles the last part, eyes darting away, a charmingly shy and flustered movement. Marc fights down the sudden need to grab his face and kiss him.

“Th-that was just me as an Akuma, though,” Marc finds himself saying, a warning and apology in one. “I…I don’t even remember what I did…”

Nathaniel darts his eyes back again, staring straight into Marc’s eyes with an intensity that causes the artist to freeze in place. “But you still wrote me a love letter, didn’t you? And you want to date me. I-If you didn’t, your Akuma wouldn’t have done it. So even if you don’t remember…that…that means you have romantic feelings for me, right? An Akuma just amplifies what you feel, but it doesn’t remake any of your _own_ feelings. B-Believe me, I know…”

Marc finds his mouth going dry. He licks his lips and clears his throat. “I-I…I guess so?”

“You were really romantic as an Akuma. A-and I mean, _really_ romantic,” the redhead stresses, biting his lip, before going on with, “And I started to w-wonder…how you’d treat me…if you weren’t an Akuma…”

The artist’s breath hitches. This feels unreal. Completely and utterly. “B-but you don’t even know me…?” Marc says weakly, face burning and heart soaring with hope.

Nathaniel smiles back at him, shy and embarrassed. “But I’d like to get to know you.”

“We just—we just officially met yesterday, I…how could you…” Marc says, dazed, watching as the redhead huffs and _pouts_ at him.

“One meeting was a-all it took for me. I—I got a crush on you. Like, _embarrassingly_ quickly, but it h-happened,” Nathaniel says, with a little laugh. “God, you’re so talented and enthusiastic and nice and _pretty_ , on top of it. I r-really didn’t stand a chance.”

“…Oh,” Marc finds himself croaking, a hoard of butterflies battling in his stomach. “S-So you…You actually wanna date me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the other replies instantly, vehemently, hands tightening around Marc’s. “And I know this is probably moving really fast for you, considering the memory loss and all, but I really want to kiss you? Like, _really_ want to kiss you. It’s kind of ridiculous how much I want to kiss you, but—”

“I mean, boyfriends kiss,” the raven-haired boy cuts in, hands spasming around the note in his hand. “I-If that’s what we are.”

Nathaniel lets go of his hands. Marc doesn’t even have time to lament the loss, before the redhead is placing his hands on Marc’s shoulders. His blue eyes gleam and he’s trembling all over, and then he’s getting on his toes to get closer to Marc’s height.

Their faces are only an inch or two apart, when the redhead whispers, “We are. Now please don’t make me beg.”

“Alright,” Marc breaths, leaning down to slot their lips together.

There’s no fireworks or applause, nothing spectacular to denote the moment other than Marc’s heart jackrabbiting in his chest. Nathaniel is clumsy in his kiss, but presses against Marc insistently, his hands fisting the material of Marc’s blazer. Marc leans down so the other doesn’t have to keep going on his toes just to kiss him, raising one hand to gently cup the other’s cheek as he closes his eyes and enjoys the moment.

When he parts their lips and opens his eyes, Nathaniel looks dazed. His face is the color of his hair, and he gently touches his lips with his fingertips. And then he ducks his head and giggles, a delighted and giddy little sound, almost love-drunk.

Fuck, that’s so _cute_.

“You wanna skip the rest of today?” Marc offers, rubbing the other’s cheek gently with his thumb. “I-I can take you out on that date, right now?”

“I’d like that,” Nathaniel nods, gently taking the paper from Marc’s hand. “And I’d like to get to see your note properly, too.”

* * *

“YOU SUNOVABITCH, WHERE WERE YOU?!” Alix shrieks into Nathaniel’s ear, when he finally picks up his phone.

Well. He shouldn’t even be surprised.

The redhead cringes, moving the device away from his ear. He waits for Alix to stop ranting and screaming before switching it to speaker phone. “Listen, we had less than half the school day left, so we decided to just skip. Living through an Akuma is never a walk in the park, even if they’re friendly, Al.”

“You had me worried sick, you emo little twink—wait, _we_? Who the _fuck_ is we? Who’s with you, Nath?!”

“Uhhhh, Marc? Duh?” the redhead says with a roll of his eyes. “Who else? You want him to say hi, or—”

“MARC’S WITH YOU?!” Marinette yells from Alix’s side of the call. “MARC, YOU’RE OKAY! OH MY GOD!”

“Hi, Mari…” Marc says sheepishly, leaning over Nathaniel’s shoulder to speak. Nathaniel finds himself smiling, face warming, at the intimate and casual gesture. “S-Sorry for not contacting you, but my phone was in my bag? Which is still at school.”

“Don’t worry, I got it for you!” the artist’s cousin chirps, like the angel she was.

“I got your bag too, you fucking dumbass emo-ass poet-writing bitch,” Alix snarls with no real venom. “You better be grateful and beg for my forgiveness when I give it back to you.”

“Thanks, Al, you’re the best and baddest bitch on this earth,” Nathaniel says, completely serious. His heart is warm, knowing that his best friend was so worried about him.

“And don’t you forget it,” Alix harumphs.

“You dating each other by the way, or…?” Marinette asks, after a small pause in the conversation. The artist finds himself squeaking, and Marc groans behind Nathaniel’s shoulder.

“Yes, we’re dating,” the artist tells his cousin. “Decided to make good time for us skipping class.”

“Good. You better be treating Nath right,” Alix grunts, and Nathaniel gives an embarrassed laugh, half-covering his face.

“Al, it’s _fine_. We worked it out,” he says, long-suffering and fond. “See you later, okay?”

“Fine, fine, yeah. See ya later.”

“Bye ‘Cuz!” Marinette chirps. “I’ll tell the fam you’re okay!”

“Thanks, Mari,” Marc sighs, voice thick with relief. “See you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon!”

Nathaniel ends the call, slumping over with a loud sigh, jittery nerves leaving his body alongside the exhalation. “That was…terrifying,” he admits in a mutter.

Behind him, Marc giggles. The artist wriggles his hand inside Nathaniel’s, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Yeah. But we handled it well, I think?”

“Yeah…” Nathaniel finds himself smiling, squeezing Marc’s hand back. “We did.”

* * *

Marc and Nathaniel are now partners, in multiple senses of the word.

Not only are they dating, they’re collaborating on a project. Marc and Nathaniel are collecting their writing and art together to make a book of illustrated poems.

And then after that, they’re considering starting a comic book. With Nathaniel’s writing and eye for characterization, and Marc’s enthusiasm and drawings over Paris’ heroes, they could probably pull it off.

Naturally, they have Red Beetle and Jaguar as the main characters. But they also have Fontaine and Apollo, the Akumatized forms of Nathaniel and Marc turned into heroes instead of villains.

But that’ll come later. For now, the artist and writer are focusing on getting to know one another. Artistic projects can come later.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Role swap AU! This includes the following:
> 
> Marc is the artist, and Nathaniel is the writer
> 
> Swapped Marinette with Alya, and Adrien with Nino. Marinette is the blogger, Nino is the model, Adrien is the dj wannabe, and Alya is a chef’s daughter.
> 
> This also means Alya is this Au’s Ladybug, called Red Beetle, and Nino is this AU’s Chat Noir, called Jaguar.
> 
> Nath looks like a very stereotypical emo kid. Black hoodie, red skinny jeans, black painted nails, and eyeliner. Also, angsty poetry galore. Marc essentially gets Nathaniel’s eclectic fashion sense, but still keeps the rainbow t-shirt and choker.
> 
> Nathaniel was Akumatized into a Reverser-like Akuma that simply wanted revenge and destruction before the events of this fic. Marc gets Akumatized into an Evillustrator-like Akuma that simply wants to woo his crush and be romantic
> 
> Nathaniel’s Akuma was named Fontaine Quill. Name based on fountain pen/quills, which are writing instruments, and Fountaine the French poet.
> 
> Marc’s Akuma Romancer is based on his entire schtick being wanting to give Nathaniel a love note, but also based on the Romantic movement. Everything about that art/literature movement had lots of frills and frou frou and was super sappy. Also based on Rome, with the toga and crown of leaves.
> 
> Nath’s Akuma could ‘create’ things through writing down scenarios that came true on his scroll. Marc’s Akuma can manipulate paper and be used for romantic gestures (the flowers and glider ride).
> 
> Now with fanart of Romancer by my amazing friend, Christallized!:  
> https://dragonchris.tumblr.com/post/641969584170254336/a-lovely-akuma-from-kopycat101s-fic-reversal-i


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